


Darkest before the Dawn

by Dawn_twilight



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Abduction, BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:39:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_twilight/pseuds/Dawn_twilight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes bad things just happen; sometimes things get worse before they get better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nights Falling

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dark fiction. It contains sexual assault of a main character and will focus on the recovery. I started writing this over a year ago and had to stop. I feel like I can continue now.

CMCMCMCM

A shrill ring woke him from a light sleep. Spencer rolled over and grabbed his phone off the side table. “Reid,” he rasped, running his tongue over chapped lips, his mouth dry and throat sore from a chest cold he just couldn’t seem to shake. 

_“Hey, man. Did I wake you up?”_

_Derek_ , his muddled mind supplied and he squinted up at his bed side clock, the red display blurring. “What time is it?” he asked, rolling over, stretching out his achy legs, and stifling a yawn. 

_“Almost nine,”_ Morgan laughed. _“I'm sorry if I woke you...”_

He was about to deny that Derek had woken him up…as if he couldn’t sleep in on his day off, but then his doorbell ringed. “Just a minute,” he called toward the front room then swung his bare legs over his mattress, standing on shaky limbs, running a hand through his messy bed hair. “Someone's at the door. Hang on,” he told Derek. 

It took a second or two to find his robe and then he slowly shuffled towards his front door. 

The doorbell rang again just as he peered through the peephole and saw an UPS man on the other side. 

_Who would be sending me a package?_

Unlocking and opening the front door of his condo, he tried to smooth his sleep tousled hair again, holding the phone against his ear with his canted head and raised shoulder, as the guy reached forward and held out an electronic clipboard and a small brown package. 

The balding man at his door waited for Spencer’s illegible scrawl, taking back his clipboard without even looking at the signature, handing him the box. 

The package was light and rectangular and his name was neatly printed on a mailing label, no return address.

“Hmm, strange.”

_“Strange?”_ Morgan asked, still on the line tucked against his ear. 

“Yeah. I'm just trying to decide if I should open this package.” He quickly shut his door, bolting both locks. He hesitated just a moment before taking a seat on his sofa and fingering the edges of the taped paper, but curiosity won out. 

He tore off the tape, letting it fall to the cushion and then slid open the paper. Balling the thick wrapping in his fist, he studied the white box before him, lifting off the lid, puzzled at what he found within.

_“What is it?”_ He jumped, shaking his head for forgetting he still held the receiver to one ear, forgetting that his friend was still waiting patiently for him on the line. 

_This cold must be turning my brain to mush._

He pushed a finger into the box, snagging a shiny gold ring and eyed the object attached. 

“It’s a key.” And not a fancy or old style skeleton key…just an everyday key…small, but possibly a key to a house or pad lock.

_“Why would someone send you a key?”_ Morgan’s voice lost its lighthearted friendly quality and took on an edge that Spencer recognized. His mind went back to the man that made the delivery, but the profiler in him was sure the uniform and the man himself was legitimate. _“Is there anything else with it...a note, a return address?”_

“No.” He got up and took the package to his kitchen, setting the box on his table. “I’ll see if I can get some information on the package, check out the...” a hacking cough burst forth before he could get the rest of the sentence out and then another. He was doubled over, gasping for breath and he could hear Derek urgently asking if he were okay.

Finally the coughing subsided. His face felt flushed and hot and his sinuses were tight and a steady pounding behind his right eye signaled the beginnings of a migraine. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Morgan snorted, _“Right man. Well I was calling to see if you wanted to hit the courts again, but from the sound of it I think you need to get back into bed.”_

Spencer nodded, shuffling back toward his bedroom and his unmade bed, his messy sheets and down comforter calling him. “I might lie down for a little longer,” he said, sliding back under the sheets. “And when I get up I’ll call UPS and see what I can find out about the package...it’s probably from my mom…” His eyes grew heavy as he talked, shifting onto his side, tucking his free hand up under his pillow, glad the sheets were cool on his heated skin. “She sends me...” a huge yawn escaped, “...some odd stuff sometimes.”

_“Okay, man.”_ Derek’s voice changed again, the hard edge was gone. _“Get some rest and maybe we can work on your jump shot some more one night after work this week.”_

There was a few seconds of silence as he drifted and then he remembered he needed to answer, “M’kay, see you at work.” He shifted over again, disconnecting the call, not bothering to put the phone back on the cradle. 

Smiling as he drifted closer to sleep, he thought about his Friday evening spent at the youth center with Derek and a group of young boys, shooting baskets and learning the basics of basketball. 

He wasn’t exactly athletic but even he could keep up with eight-year olds. 

He was nearly gone when a few sneezes violently erupted and he half rolled toward his side table, lifting his hand, rooting around for some tissues. He was hoping he would be feeling better before having to report back to work on Monday morning and as he finally drifted off to sleep, tissues falling from his lax fingers, he wondered if the mysterious package containing the key really was from his mother. 

CMCMCMCM 

Monday morning found Reid walking bleary eyed toward his desk. He had tossed and turned most of the night before, but at least he could finally breathe through his nose this morning and his headache was gone.

Most of his team was already in the office and he nodded to each as he passed them, sipping his cream clotted coffee, which soothed his sore throat. Sinking gratefully into his own office chair he booted up his computer.

“About time you showed up.” Morgan stood towering over him, a smug smile lighting up his dark features.

Spencer shook is head, leaning forward in his seat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m right on time.” He smiled into his paper cup as his friend snagged a nearby chair and sat down. 

“So, you sound better.” Morgan took a bite of an apple he was tossing around from hand to hand, a little smirk on his face as he swallowed. “If you’re feeling up to it, Coach Draper needs some mentors tonight at seven, might be a bit more of a challenge though. The boys are ten.” 

He nodded, not taking the bait, wincing a little as pain zipped up his spine and down his arm. Even the hand holding the steaming paper cup felt funny, tingly, but he passed it off as recovering from his bout with the flu or whatever virus he had been fighting. “Sounds good.” He sat his cup down as his hand began to shake, not wanting to spill the contents, but if his teammate noticed he didn’t say anything.

“Okay, I’ll pick you up at six. We can grab a bite to eat first...if you want.”

He pondered the offer over, picking up his coffee to take another sip. “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

Morgan pushed to his feet, knocking the chair back toward the empty desk. “By the way, did you find out anything about your delivery?”

He hadn’t. 

He had called his local UPS office, but they couldn’t find the record of a delivery to his home address.

“Nope. You think I should tell Hotch?”

Morgan’s posture changed in an instant. “The question is do you think you should tell him? Last night you seemed pretty certain it was from your mom. If that’s changed you need to run it by him.”

Spencer knew he was right. He just didn’t want to bother his boss with something that was probably trivial. Just because the delivery company couldn’t find the record didn’t mean it didn’t exist; human errors occurred and he was sure the man that delivered the package to his door was indeed an employee of the company. 

Really it came down to not wanting to potentially bring up his family history. He didn’t want to have to reveal anymore about himself or his life then was necessary. His job was hard enough without his coworkers profiling him. They all already unconsciously did that on the limited knowledge that they had. He didn’t need to supply them with more information, when he was afraid of the outcome. 

It had to have been his mother...she had done this sort of thing before. 

But a little persistent voice kept asking, _‘What if it’s not?’_

Finally he said, “I guess you’re right. I'll tell him.”

CMCMCMCM

Aaron Hotchner looked up when a swift knock came at his open door a little after three in the afternoon.

He had that policy; he liked to keep his door open for his team when at all possible, so he inclined his head for Morgan to enter, dropping the remains of his late lunch, a turkey on rye, back to the wrapper, wiping his fingers on a crumbled napkin. “What can I do for you?” 

Morgan sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk, leaning back casually. “Sorry to bother your lunch. I just wanted to see what you thought of Reid’s key.”

He saw the look of expectation cross his agent’s face, but had no idea what the man was talking about. “Key?”

Morgan sat a bit higher in his seat, his face losing its relaxed look. “Yeah. Reid got a package on Saturday. Standard UPS delivery. He found just a key inside.”

“Nothing else?” Hotchner asked, alert to a threat now even though he did not fully understand it. “Did he try to track the package?” 

“Yes. Didn’t he come in this morning to run it by you?”

Hotchner shook his head. “I haven’t seen him all day.”

They both turned toward the BAU bullpen, looking for the familiar thin frame and shaggy head, but Reid’s desk was empty.

Something wasn't right.

“Maybe he went out to lunch?” Aaron offered, knowing even as he said it, it didn’t ring true. They were between cases, but each member of his team had been working on open profiling assignments for other law enforcement offices and agencies.

Morgan pulled his phone from his pocket, calling Reid’s number, but it went right to voice mail. 

“Check his calendar; see if he had an appointment or interview...we might have had a miscommunication.” It was unlikely, but possible...they were not perfect.

They rose together, moving out of the larger office and over to the empty desk. Morgan picked up the open planner that sat on the blotter, reading through Reid’s schedule for the day. “He had some phone interviews, but nothing out of the building.”

Hotchner reached over, feeling a paper coffee cup, “cold. Check the restrooms, he hasn’t been feeling well. Keep calling his phone. See if he’s signed out for the day at security, try his home number too.”

Aaron pulled his own cell phone as Morgan took off toward the restrooms, but he had a sinking feeling they wouldn’t find their missing agent there. He quickly dialed JJ’s number, inquiring about Reid, but she hadn’t seen him since earlier in the day. “Call everyone else, set up a timeline.” As he spoke, he noted a plain brown paper bag sitting atop the surface of Reid’s desk, among the open files and Reid’s hand written notes on the cold cases he was working. “Get Garcia to check the time stamp on his PC and the security footage. I’ll get someone up here to secure his desk and we’ll meet in twenty.”

He made the necessary calls to get a team up to the desk. 

Morgan was just coming back as they were preparing to open the bag. “He’s not in the building that I can tell, but he didn’t sign out. No one’s seen him since earlier today. What do you have?”

“Another package.” Aaron watched as the lab tech took great care in removing a long box from the lunch bag, then using tweezers to removed a piece of tape that secured the lid to the box, preserving any evidence that might be on the packaging, thinking of his next move. “I’ll send a team to his apartment.”

The lid was removed with care and at first he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. He knew what it was of course, but not the significance. The tech held up a chunk of human hair in his gloved fingers, long strands, more then seemed possible, neatly braided and held together at each end with a leather binding. 

Morgan broke the silence. “It’s got to be his, Hotch. We need to find him and fast.”

“Take it to the lab," he told the tech, "keep me informed.” 

CMCMCMCM

Spencer could feel soft material covering his head and face, covering his eyes and even when he thought he had opened them it was still completely dark. 

A rising surge of panic threatened to overtake him, but he tried to push it down, gasping in gulps of air, pulling frantically at the ropes that bound his wrists behind him, yanking hard at whatever was tethering his ankles together. 

His hands felt completely numb, but he could bend and flex his knees and feet, kick with them, there was no resistance, so he rolled from side to side, entangling himself in heavy rope.

He tried to sit up, but fell back again, riding out a heavy wave of nausea and then he thought to open his mouth, to scream for help, but his hoarse calls just bounced and echoed off the walls of the cavernous room he was being held in.

For hours, no one came, no one spoke to him.

He screamed and cried until his already sore throat could make no more noise and then exhausted he lay back against a cold concrete wall, swallowing a thick wad of saliva that was collecting at the back of his throat, tasting of his own fear. "Where, where am I...please, where am I?"

He lay panting; a spike of shear panic bolting up through his stomach and spine, straining to hear anything in the quiet space, all his senses on overload. 

Sometime later, he got his breathing under control and he thought he could hear another’s breath…someone in the room with him and he panicked anew. “Who’s there?” he rasped, squatting and scooting back as far as he could go, bumping his bare back against the wall.

He turned his head from side to side, listening in darkness so complete, he could see bursts of bright lights firing behind his tightly pressed lids, straining to hear anything above his own gasps for air and his pounding heart.

And there...another breathing in the darkness…calmer…smoother than his own. 

A gentle in and out.

And then suddenly a cold hand touched his bare chest and he jumped back, ramming his head into the concrete wall, seeing a brilliant display of stars and fireworks shoot through the darkness behind the blindfold or his closed eyes, he wasn't sure. But the hand remained, petting his heated skin and in that instant Reid had a moment of clarity. 

His back was abrading against the rough texture of the wall and a cool hand petted his chest and shoulder, joined by another that moved down his trembling sides and rested on his bare right thigh. 

_Why am I naked?_

His brain screamed for him to move, but his body did not obey. 

A wet something swabbed his leg and then he felt the sting of a needle as it pierced his skin. 

Heaviness settled over his chest and belly. 

His eyes began drooping behind the cloth that covered his head and face and he could feel gentle touches, rubbing over his thigh where the injection was given. 

And then another ran gently up his leg toward his groin.

He drew in a giant breath, pushing back and away as far as he could and just before he knew the hand would reach its goal, just when he knew his heart would beat out of his chest, just when he began to scream his denial his eyes rolled up and he knew nothing more. 

CMCMCMCM


	2. Into the Darkness

CMCMCMCM

Even though he knew it was futile, Morgan knocked on Reid’s door, calling out his co-worker’s name. “Reid? If you’re in there…open the door.”

Prentiss reached forward and tried the doorknob and when it turned, they exchanged a worried look and drew their weapons.

Cautiously, he pushed the door open and looked around the interior of Reid’s home. 

Two throw pillows were propped at the end of the leather couch, a light blanket was tossed messily over the back and an empty tea cup sat atop a stack of books on the coffee table and Morgan figured that Reid had hunkered down on the sofa to ride out whatever bug that had gotten a hold on him.

They split up, cautiously holding their service weapons before them. Derek went toward the back rooms and Emily went toward the kitchen and dining area.

He heard her calling all clear as he walked around the full sized bed, noting that it was neatly made. Stationary and a pen were sitting on the nightstand along with a few wadded up tissues. 

Morgan opened the closet doors, where he found the clothes were arranged by type and color and then he peered into the bathroom, but neither Reid or anyone else for that matter were there. “Clear.”

He could hear Emily’s booted footsteps as she traveled over the hardwood floors and entered the bedroom.

“I don’t see any evidence of forced entry…do you think he just forgot to lock the door on the way out this morning?”

Derek seriously doubted it, but since Reid had been under the weather, maybe he had forgotten.

“Possible,” he told her. “But not likely.” He holstered his gun and pulled out his cell phone to contact Hotch. The rest of the team were working the evidence left on Reid’s desk and looking through the security footage from the building entrance and common hallways.

Emily pulled a pair of latex gloves from her coat pocket and snapped them on. “I’ll start in the living room,” she told him. As his phone connected his call, she must have pressed the button on Reid’s answering machine because he could hear his own tinny voice repeating the message he had left for Reid earlier.

“Hotch?” he asked, moving to the living room to join Prentiss, eyes scanning for anything out of place as he spoke with his superior. “Nothing here, but we’re still looking.”

_“Okay, Garcia and J.J. are still searching his computer and Rossi’s going through the open case files he's been working on.”_

He caught sight of a small box sitting on Reid’s kitchen table and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. “I found the package he got on Saturday.” Morgan pulled out his gloves, but didn’t put them on; instead he folded them over the box and picked it up, seeing a gold key sitting on top of cotton padding. The kind you would find in a cheap earring or necklace box.

_“I’ll send the forensic team. Keep me updated.”_

“Will do,” Morgan disconnected the call, folding and pocketing his cell.

The paper wrapping sat near by and Derek carefully unfolded it, knowing the techs would look for and probably not find any physical evidence, since there wasn't anything on the box left on Reid's desk. He took a picture of the label, the box and the key to send to Garcia. Hopefully she would find something similar in a search of the databases, some other case that would render more leads and if anyone could find out where the box and it’s contents had come from, it would be Penelope. But instead of calling their resident computer wiz, he texted a message asking her to look at the photo and see what she could find.

Emily came into the kitchen holding a hairbrush in her gloved hand. “I’m bagging this so we can compare and confirm with the hair evidence we already have. What do you have there?”

He showed her the box, filling her in on what Hotch had told him and about sending the picture to Garcia.

“I’m gonna knock on the neighbor’s doors,” he told her, trusting her to continue searching and to wait on the forensic team. He didn’t want to wait…needed to be doing something… He was determined to get answers and as fast as possible. He wasn’t a _wait and see_ kinda guy and especially not when it came to his team.

It appeared the next row home over was unoccupied, its inhabitants probably gone to work, but on the other side an elderly woman answered his knock. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Derek Morgan with the FBI," he whipped out is identification and held it up for her to see. She pulled his hand closer and studied it, looking from his picture to his face, before releasing him.

"Ina Patrick," she told him, "What can I do for you?"

"I need to ask you a few questions about your neighbor a few doors down,” he pointed toward Reid's home, "and to ask if you have seen anything out of the ordinary in the past few days or weeks."

"Oh dear, is Spencer in trouble?" 

"You know Spencer Reid?"

She nodded, looking beyond him to the front steps of Spencer's place and then to the SUV he and Emily had arrived in. "Yes, in passing. He's a lovely young man...helps me carry my groceries in from time to time...helps me catch Stinky when he gets away from me on our evening walks...he works for the FBI too, doesn't he?"

"Yes, ma'am...he's a colleague of mine and he's missing, so I was hoping maybe you have notice something...a car or someone that doesn't belong on your street..."

"I'm sorry, dear...my eyes are not the best and I hardly go out during the day unless I have a doctor's appointment. In fact, I only go out once a week for my groceries and hair appointment and I walk Stinky around the block in the evenings...he does his business in the back yard during the day..."

When his phone buzzed he pulled it from his pocket, thinking that his baby girl had outdone herself, returning his text so quickly.

He also pulled his business card and handed it to Reid's neighbor. "Thank you, ma'am. If you can think of anything that might help or remember anything at all that might be related, please give me a call."

As he made his way toward the home on the other side of Reid's, he flipped open his phone and called up the text. 

What he saw on his display screen stopped him in his tracks…he immediately recognized the huddled form of his friend, took in the bare skin and binding ropes, the hood over Reid's head and the naked form positioned possessively behind him and then the digital photo display blinked twice and disappeared. 

He must have run the rest of the way back, because Emily startled as he busted through the partly opened doorway to Reid’s home.

“Call Garcia,” he shouted, dropping his cell to the kitchen table. “Tell her to search my cell for incoming texts…it’s gone…it’s gone…”

He knew Emily must have thought he had some how lost his marbles on the short trip down the street to question the locals, but to her credit she yanked her own cell from her pocket and relayed the info to whoever she was talking to. “She’s running a check now…but what’s gone?”

“Reid,” he told her. “Reid.”

CMCMCMCM

Spencer’s head was still steadily pounding, a spot behind his right eye pulsed with each quicken breath he took.

He didn’t know where he was or what had happened. One moment he was gone and the next he was back to this reality, wherever that was. 

Something soft was still covering his eyes and he strained to hear something...anything.

The fine hairs on his arms stood and he was so sure that someone was in the room with him, but he couldn’t hear them…no quiet breathing this time, just a deep silence that he had never experienced before.

He tried to shift positions, to turn on his side, but his senses couldn’t detect what was up and what was down. 

After a second of squirming, he realized he was kneeling, his knees ached and felt scraped from the hard concrete floor and his hands rested on something smooth between his bent knees.

His upper body was bent over and his head rested on the cool ground, he could feel the cold seep into his heated cheek even through whatever covered his face.

He couldn’t move his hands from whatever he was holding, they were somehow tethered but he could run his thumbs over the curved surface and into the indentation that ran along the top. The rest of his fingers were splayed over the downward curve and he decided he was holding a bowl, made from…wood or maybe bamboo.

When he tried to rise from his kneeling position, he found that something around his throat kept him in place and he started to panic, bringing his rear end down toward his heels, thinking he could tip onto his side, maybe curl up.

But then something smacked him hard across the ass and he yelped, jerking forward and away from the sharp stinging sensation. 

"Who are you?" he cried, "Where am I?" Another blow caught him off guard and he tilted to the right where another slap jerked him back forward on his knees, nearly the position he started in.

He panted heavily through his mouth and waited but no more hits came.

He jumped when someone touched him on the small of his back and then fingers found there way to his dangling sack.

When he jerked forward a blow came again and he realized that if he would just stay still, stay where his assailant wanted him the spanking would stop. 

The hand on him moved again, cool and slick against the heat rising from his skin from the hits to his rear and his ass was pushed upward, forcing him to bend forward a little more until his forehead was resting on the ground again.

"Who…who ar…are you?" he stuttered, breathing shallow in an effort to calm down, but his mind was racing, searching for and then rejecting scenarios to get him out of this situation.

He was at a disadvantage. 

He didn’t know who had taken him or for what purpose and then he let loose with a muffled chuckle, manic little laughs that told him he was losing what little control he had over himself.

The analytical part of his mind insisted he explore all possibilities, find a solution, and talk his way out of whatever this was. The hysterical babbling coming from the other part of his brain informed him he wasn’t being rational, that he couldn’t possibly find a solution since he had no facts and that no one had even talked to him, so how could he talk his way out of whatever was about to happen.

And he knew…knew what was about to come and he recoiled from that fact, nervously rocking his body a little on his knees. 

Tears of fear and frustration started to leak from his tightly pressed lids and then he whispered, “please…please don’t do this to me.”

His nose was so stuffed up that he hardly recognized his own pleading voice and he could feel sweat breaking out over his flesh, feel a fine trickle start at the small of his back and roll up his spine as his body trembled in anticipation of the violation that was sure to come. 

He was shaking so hard he forgot to keep his ass up and knew from the zipping sound that he was about to be smacked again.

He didn’t know if his legs could hold him there, but whatever he was hit with left his skin stinging and raw, so he leaned forward and pressed his face to the ground, presenting his ass to whomever was behind him.

He waited, knowing he was about to be assaulted, knowing that someone was about to hurt him…but then…nothing happened.

The blanket of silence settled over him again.

He held the position, hoping that would appease his captor and he would be left alone, but as he waited and strained to hear anything, he became suddenly aware of a presence very close behind him and he tensed again, asking. "Wh…what are y…you doing?"

He remained as still as possible but couldn’t help the whole body shudder that consumed him when two hands suddenly soothed down the tingling skin of his butt, "Sor….sorry…," because he didn't want to be hit again. His ass was cupped and petted and something cool and wet dribbled over him. "Please…st stooop”

But despite his pleas, the hands moved in small circles, smoothing his heated skin, almost comforting and for a while, nothing else happened. 

A little later, the hands moved and ran along the crease of his ass and another sob escaped his trembling lips, but he tried not to lose control of himself, tried to breathe through his panic, panting again as he swallowed hard. “I can’t…please, don't hurt me….don’t make me…please don’t make me…”

He was babbling and he knew it, but maybe his words would get through. He had to hope that by talking to whoever had him, would make them see him as a person and not a plaything. 

The hands moved on and pulled on his testicles, tentatively touching his soft cock.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

They caressed him and then pulled and stroked experimentally. 

A familiar surge went through his groin, and in his nervousness he thought that maybe he was gonna pee on whoever was touching him, but then to his utter horror, his cock filled and hardened and the urge to pee went away.

He shook his head, sick dread settling in his gut like a rock, but there was no denying that his body was responding to what was being done to it.

The hand lingered on him for some time, stroking and squeezing and pulling and in his fear he wished that his attacker would just get it over with already, that was until something wet and sticky touched his hole.

“NO!" He rocked forward, trying to get away, "No, please don’t, please…” His body shook with each intake of breath, but no matter which way he tried to move, the steady pressure at his hole remained and he could feel a finger sliding in, his muscles clenching and pushing against the unnatural intrusion, but that didn’t stop the fingers progression.

Reid’s analytical brain told him he should be thankful that he was being opened gently and not plundered by something a lot bigger then a finger. But that other side of him, the side that was steadily falling apart told him this couldn’t be happening…not to him…it’s not real, it couldn’t be.

_It’s a dream, a nightmare…I'm still sick and having a vivid and horrible nightmare._

He could feel the finger squirming in his rectum, feel it flex and stroke at his lining and then it was pulled out, another joining the first and he gasped, "Stop...,” but still both worked within him, scissoring and bumping at him, making him jump from a jolt of unexpected pleasure, but it still hurt and he couldn't reconcile how that could be.

 _Feel that?_ his mind jabbered, _…that’s no dream…_

“SHUT UP!” he screeched, trying to move forward and away from the roaming fingers, but the hand that still held and stroked his cock squeezed him hard.

“Oh god, oh please…stop.” He was losing whatever self control he still maintained and then he told himself that was probably what the freak wanted him to do.

_But why?_

_Who has me?_

_What have I done to…_

The fingers left him with a squishy sucking sound and he vomited a little into his mouth, but quickly swallowed the foul bile back down and took a deep breath as something bigger then fingers pressed at him.

He shook his head and tried to pull away, but no matter what he did, the pressure remained and he could feel himself stretching around a hard rigid object, feel it inch into him until the rounded end bumped his prostate. Another bolt of extreme…something zipped up his spine, pleasure outweighing the pain this time.

And the object didn’t move in and out of him like he expected would happen. Instead the end bumped and rubbed over the bundle of nerves deep in him and then something tightened painfully around the base of his cock.

The thing stopped for a few seconds or maybe minutes, but he kept his mouth shut. 

Spencer knew his words couldn’t help him now…he was just going to have to endure and hope that he would be able to survive, that when this was over the person who had him wouldn't kill him.

A strange thought tickled the back of his brain, which was surprisingly quiet. 

Why would his attacker hesitate or stop? 

What was the man…could it be a woman? What was his assailant doing when he or she stopped?

He strained to hear, but no sounds reached his ears and before he could consider the puzzle further, the thing in him started to rub at the lining of his rectum again, bumping and stroking his prostate in a firm and steady circular motion. 

He once read a book about Sadist practices and it helped him now to think about the passages, he could see the text behind his lidded eyes. 

The thing in him wasn’t a dildo, it was an instrument used to milk the prostate, to deny orgasm in a traditional sense. 

He didn't know why this person would want to use one on him, but with each swipe the instrument pressed harder and moved faster and a cold sweat broke out over his body, he could smell the musk of his own armpits and feel unbearable pressure building deep within him. It felt like it was going on and on, that the sensation would never end and now he was panting, his whole body vibrating with unleashed tension and his toes curled. 

He suddenly realized he was rocking back against the base of the thing in him so he tried to stop moving, told himself that it didn’t mean anything…it was just his body’s natural response to what was happening to it.

Time moved on, pressure building in his spine, moving down his belly and into his groin and he ached, he hurt…but his shaky legs still pressed him back and the throb of his cock made him whimper and moan, jabbering pleas to stop or to just get it over with.

The fingers or whatever around the base of his cock tightened as his balls drew up and he cried out, because he couldn't help the feeling, the need to find his release.

Whatever was around his penis tightened again and it hurt...but it also felt good and Spencer could not make sense of what he was feeling, only knowing he wanted to come and then the pressure around him was gone and something was happening…something he had never felt before. 

A hand pushed his ass up even more and the bowl or whatever it was between his legs was adjusted because he could feel his cock placed over the rim and then bright lights flashed behind his eyes, he could hear a roaring in his head and himself moaning loud and long as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through him. 

His cock pulsed and squirted fluid and he realized they wanted to collect what was coming out of him. 

Heat infused his head and the blood rushed back to his cheeks, he could feel them burning hot with shame.

He gulped for breath, asking, "Why," but he knew he wouldn't get an answer. 

Silence ruled as his hands were released and he was rolled to his side where he pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his shaky arms around them.

The devise was still buried deep in him and he bore down, trying to push it out, but he didn’t think it moved and he was afraid to touch it.

So instead he turned his face from side to side, but he couldn’t dislodge the hood or whatever it was over his head. 

Feeling like he was alone again, he carefully reached up and felt that it was attached to whatever encircled his neck. 

A collar? 

It felt like smooth metal and his fingers couldn’t find any seams or release mechanisms, just one tiny indentation, but he didn’t know what it could be.

His back and knees ached and he wanted to sit up, but first he reached down and touched himself, feeling like something was still wrapped around him, but his penis was flaccid, and his hand suddenly stilled when he touched his hairless skin.

He had been shaved.

His hands moved back between his legs and felt his testis, they were a little sore and felt bigger then they should, tender to the touch, but the real pain was pulsing in his anus, so he took a deep breath and reached back and grasped the curved handle sticking out of him.

His fingers ran through something wet and his stomach clenched, but he swallowed it down, because he couldn't let himself get sick with the hood over his head.

His fingers ran over the base of the toy and he carefully pulled downward, feeling it slide out a little, but he stopped because his rectum spasm and clenched around the device holding him open. He knew the tissues inside were probably swollen and the lubricant used not sufficient to ease it out painlessly, but he wanted the thing gone so he pulled harder, feeling it inch out of his body, pulling free with a burning pop and he flung it across the room, but he didn’t hear it landing like he expected.

He strained to hear anything at all…

His own beating heart worked overtime, pounding in his breast and then he thought… maybe he wasn’t alone after all.

CMCMCMCM


End file.
